He Doesn't See Himself Disappear
by onlymystory
Summary: Stiles was told if he found himself in hell to just keep going. What if there's no way out?
1. Chapter 1

It's when he's walking home after the impromptu lacrosse match with Scott that the voice starts in again. Reminding him that no one looked for him after Gerard kidnapped him. That no one knew he was missing until he was back.

He tells the voice to shut up. Says if this is hell, he'll do what the counselor said and keep going.

The voice wants to know '_who said you're allowed to leave'_. Asks him if he really thinks anyone would notice if he disappears again.

Stiles tries to tell himself that the past was a mistake. His friends love him, they care, and if he ends up in trouble, they'll rescue him.

He tries even harder to believe it when the alpha pack kidnaps him. Every kick to his ribs, every slice of a knife across his arms, Stiles grits his teeth and says nothing, trusting that his friends will find him in time.

Stiles is down to his last shred of hope when he hears the pack outside, attacking the alphas. He's comforted. They found him. They were looking for him.

Then he hears Scott joking about how pissed Stiles is going to be that he missed out. They weren't here for him. No one knew he was gone. No one knows he's here. Hours go by before Derek and Isaac return, break through the doors to the cabin, find him in the back room, exhausted and unconscious.

He wakes up in the hospital, hears his friends yell at him for getting involved in the first place. Stiles doesn't hear the fear in their voices at the thought of losing him.

* * *

He's kept out of pack meetings after that. Told to stay home, assigned a bodyguard for a few weeks until the threat has fully passed.

They joke about being on Stiles' duty instead of at training.

They don't mind at all. Stiles is their friend. They love him. Want him safe.

Stiles doesn't know that.

A little voice tells him he's a burden. In the way. Wasting everyone's time.

* * *

Stiles hears his dad crying one night. Considers going to sit with him. He makes it down the stairs but stops when he can hear his dad talking.

John does that sometimes. Talks out loud to his wife, tells her things. Stiles gets that. He used to do the same thing. But he hasn't' talked to his mom for a long time.

He hears his dad whisper that he misses her. Says sometimes it breaks his heart when he can see her in Stiles' eyes.

Stiles goes back upstairs. Cries himself to sleep.

He doesn't hear his dad continue that he doesn't know if he could keep going without Stiles. That he's the best memory anyone could have given him of his wife.

* * *

The next day he does his research. Finds an herbal recipe that won't hurt. That will be peaceful. Like falling asleep.

* * *

Stiles stands by the staircase at Derek's fixed house. He wasn't called when the pack brought in the furniture. So he came at night. His eyes take in the carpet and paint, the way it has been redone to hide the past. There's something wrong with this, he thinks. Like everyone's trying to move on and no one wants to talk about the memories buried here.

_"You can't bury a ghost,"_ he whispers, but as usual, no one but a ghost would be listening anyway.

* * *

Derek is in Stiles' bedroom. Kissing him. Marking him. It's everything Stiles wouldn't acknowledge that he wanted. Derek has Stiles against the wall, one knee between his legs, pressing against him like he can't let go.

Stiles is daring, exploring Derek's mouth with his tongue, moving against him, desperate for friction.

He whimpers Derek's name.

Derek breaks away_. "I can't,"_ he says, breathing hard.

Stiles doesn't care what it says about him. He reaches out, pulls Derek back to him, crushes their lips together.

Derek pushes him away, eyes alight with an emotion Stiles can't read. "_No, Stiles," he growls. "I can't. This isn't right…You're…"_

Stiles doesn't need him to finish that thought. You're not right, not enough, not her. He's not what Derek needs. Not what Derek wants. Not what anyone wants.

He doesn't know what Derek's trying to say. _"You're too good for me. I'm not right. You're better than I could every hope for."_

He doesn't say anything when Derek climbs back out the window. Doesn't move until he can hear the Alpha's camaro start up. Then he lets his knees buckle and slides to the floor. He cries for a long time. Rocking back and forth, big shuddering tears. Stiles cries until his hoodie is soaked and the sleeves have been used as tissues too many times and finally, after several hours, he has nothing left to give.

Stiles doesn't wonder if anyone will miss him anymore. He knows they won't. The voice assures him. They don't miss him now. Really he's just permanently checking off a box on a chore chart. No more assigning Stiles' duty.

He thinks his dad will be sad for a little while. But he'll move on. And a bitter little voice reminds Stiles that when he's gone, when the thing with his mother's eyes is dead, his dad might finally move past her death as well.

So clearly it's for the best. He doesn't belong anymore. He tries not to wonder if he ever did. That voice is there again. Pointing out that if he has to ask, he knows the answer.

Stiles is tired. Exhausted. No one notices when he's there except to tell him to stop talking. No one notices when he disappears. What's one more time?

* * *

He calls them first. Gets mostly voicemails. He wonders if his reason is spite, a last chance to lash out. He doesn't think so though. Because every time he hears the rings, hears that the phone I son, his heart races a little faster. Wondering if this is when the phone is picked up. He only needs one person to answer. Even Jackson would be enough.

Stiles doesn't leave messages. What would he say?

Scott answers. Stiles can't help the spark of relief he feels. Scott says hi, listens to Stiles say he needs to talk to his best friend. Stiles tries to stay casual. Stiles listens as Scott says he's at Allison's and busy right now but he'll try to find some bro time later in the week.

Stiles says something in return. He's not really sure what. He can hear Lydia & Jackson in the background. Hears Lydia answer her phone this time, telling Boyd & Erica can come over. His mind registers that this is a couples thing but it doesn't help.

At some point Stiles hangs up the phone. _You wanted the truth,_ says that voice.

He's had the little vial ready for a while. There's a reason he gets assigned research. The little mixture should work quickly. Stiles estimates maybe ten minutes to wait. He sits at his desk, swallows it down in a quick gulp.

After a few minutes he wonders if he should leave a note. That's the normal thing to do, he remembers. Try to give an explanation.

Stiles can't find the words though. He tries to tell Erica that he finally realized Catwoman never needed Batman as much as Batman needed her.

He wants to remind Lydia that she shouldn't be upset. He knew when he told her that she was destined for greatness that he wasn't meant to be a part of it.

He writes '_when you kissed me, I realized I could have loved you, more than anyone is supposed to get to love someone else'_ but he doesn't really know how to finish that.

Stiles writes _'I love you, Dad.'_ Adds an '_I'm sorry'._

He tries to think of what to write next. It needs more. The voice wants to know why he thinks it would matter. So he thinks better of the whole letter idea. Tears out the page, starts to crumple it in his hand.

Too much time has passed.

Stiles' hand relaxes, he slumps forward, head falling on the desk.

The world disappears.

* * *

Stiles doesn't see his dad walk into the room several hours later, intending to whisper goodnight to his son.

Doesn't feel his dad shake him, plead with him, beg his lifeless body to come back.

He doesn't see his dad collapse to the floor, Stiles in his arms, body wracked with sobs.

He can't hear Derek's howls of anguish when the call comes.

Stiles doesn't see Scott pick a fight with Jackson, needing someone, anyone to lash out at.

Jackson lets Scott hit him. Welcomes it. He ignored the phone call too. He tells Scott to hit him harder.

It takes six lacrosse players, Coach Finstock, and Peter Hale to pull them apart. Neither boy can see straight through the tears.

He doesn't see Erica destroy the bunker, throwing things at the wall and wishing the sounds of shattering glass and splintering wood could break the silence that threatens to overtake her.

He doesn't see Isaac crawl into that freezer and shut the door, trying to find some way, any way to punish himself.

Stiles doesn't see the way Lydia and Allison cling to each other at the funeral, broken and unsure.

He doesn't see his dad storm into Derek's house after the funeral. The pack is gathered there. Silent. Wondering where they go from here. John Stilinski walks in, shoots Derek in the leg, screams _you killed my son! _

He doesn't see a man desperate for someone to blame and another man grasping on to that guilt with everything he has left.

He throws the letter at Scott, tells him to read it out loud. Scott does. Stiles isn't there to see the way it slices through the tenuous threads still holding them together.

Derek doesn't move. Can't move.

Stiles doesn't hear his had scream '_he gave you everything and you let him disappear'_ at the pack.

He doesn't see his world fall apart when he's not there to hold it together.

He doesn't see any of it.

Stiles sees his mom. She doesn't disappear.

* * *

**I know writing this story kind of makes me an awful person. It's just that ever since the finale, I've had this fear that the show could go really dark with Stiles. This kind of dark, not a Stiles goes evil!Willow thing. His speech to the guidance counselor especially not only broke my heart but made me wonder if anyone really sees Stiles. Sees what he has to deal with. I know I'm not the only one who feels that way either. Not when so many stories deal with Stiles feeling like he isn't pack.**

**I couldn't stop thinking about this though so I had to write it out. Sorry.**


	2. Chapter 2

Derek is sitting in front of Stiles' grave. It's Thanksgiving.

"I forgot to bring flowers," he starts. "I always forget to bring something. I don't know why I do that."

He knows why. Lydia tried it once, putting flowers against the tombstone but everyone thought it felt wrong. And Scott once stuck a comic book there, like Stiles could read it from heaven. But it blew away that night.

Derek tries again. "I don't usually come out here on the holidays. That's your dad's job. He spends a lot of time out here. With you. With your mom. But I wanted to come talk to you today. I…" his voice cracks a little. "I found something to be thankful for this week and…and I…I guess I just wanted to tell you about it. I thought you might like to know.

"You probably think I talk a lot now. I don't really know how to live in silence anymore. Maybe I stopped knowing how the day I met you. But ever since you died, the silence seems louder somehow. It's a scary sound."

He hears a sound in the distance. Looks up angry, wondering who is there and then he sees Chris Argent in front of his wife's grave.

A little further over, John Stilinski kneels in front of his wife's grave. Derek remembers the day John pulled up to the house, suitcases in hand, and stood in front of him at the door.

He said he knew there were extra rooms at the pack house and that he wanted to leave but he'd sworn to protect this town and leaving felt like he'd be disappointing the people that he never protected.

Derek pointed out he had a house. He didn't really know what he was supposed to say.

John's eyes were full of tears as he told Derek that when his wife died, he was okay to see her memory throughout the house because Stiles kept her alive. There was still light. But now it was just darkness. No one taking away the cheeseburger and replacing it with a salad. No one pulling away the whiskey on the difficult nights.

There was no Stiles. And that meant the light was gone.

Derek gave him a room upstairs.

Derek turns back to Stiles. "Remember Sammy and Abigail? I told you about them before I think. Sammy's started calling me Alpa Dere. He has trouble with certain sounds. Abigail's still not convinced that Isaac isn't secretly Balto. You'd love them."

Sammy and Abigail were seven year old twins. About six months ago, Derek had woken up to Isaac and Jackson coming from the rain. He could hear two extra heartbeats, little ones, so he went downstairs. Isaac was shaking and covered in blood and Jackson was carrying the little ones and whispering to them.

Allison and Lydia took the kids away while the wolves explained. Turned out the twins' father had been a lot like Mr. Lahey. Worse in fact. Isaac had snapped when he heard the screams while on patrol and Jackson didn't get there in time.

There were days it was good the Sheriff was on their side.

No one really questioned where the kids should go. The next morning Scott and Jackson came in with paint cans and Boyd put together a pair of bunk beds and Lydia spent the day shopping for new clothes.

Derek took a while to warm up to the kids, not wanting to let anyone in. But kids are funny that way. They sort of worm their way into your heart before you realize you forgot to lock it up.

"Scott tells Sammy stories about you," he continues to Stiles, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "I think Sammy's convinced you were a superhero. Sometimes I think you were too."

"Boyd tells them about actual superheroes. I asked him why once, when they know we're werewolves, why the kids need stories about The Avengers. He said you would have yelled at him for neglecting their education if he didn't."

Derek registers that John is walking towards him. It doesn't matter. Sometimes they talk to Stiles together.

He keeps going. "Sammy wanted to know if he could dress up the other day like Halloween. Allison asked why. He said today was a good day for a secret identity. Sometimes I wonder how he can come up with stuff like that and still call me Alpa."

Derek's crying now. He stops trying to swipe at the tears since it won't do any good.

"I told him to dress up as anyone in the world, just for today. Sammy came down…" Derek's voice breaks. "He came downstairs dressed like Batman."

John sits down next to him. Derek breathes heavy.

They'd all been in the kitchen. Eating a late breakfast, relaxing for the holidays. Derek had figured Sammy would put his werewolf costume on from Halloween. He'd worn it for a week leading up to the big day after all.

When Sammy walked in as Batman, with a black blazer for a cape and his mask a little askew, Derek just lost it.

He sank to the floor against the refrigerator and cried.

Erica wolfed out and ran out the door.

It was Abigail who crawled into his lap and petted his cheeks. She kept saying "shh, Alpa Dere. It's okay." And he wrapped his arms around the little girl and held on for dear life.

Lydia finally registered that Sammy was standing in the kitchen, terrified that he'd done something wrong. She'd reassured Sammy that it was okay, everyone liked his costume. She got him breakfast, seating him at the counter.

Derek can't figure out how to tell Stiles the rest of the story.

John steps in. "Sammy makes a really good Batman, son. You'd be proud of him. You'd be proud of your pack too. No one gets to disappear anymore."

"I knew there was something to be thankful for, something for the first time in a long time when we asked Sammy if it was better to be Batman or Bruce Wayne," says Derek, finding his voice again. It's ragged and broken but he needs to tell Stiles the story.

It goes like this. Sammy wanted to know who Bruce Wayne was. Isaac reminded him that Bruce Wayne is Batman's secret identity.

Sammy shook his head very furiously at that, all blond curls and big brown eyes and set his spoon down by his cereal bowl. "No," he said, very sure of himself. "No, that's not Bruce Wayne."

Allison teased him a little. "Is Sammy the secret identity?"

"You're doing it wrong!" Sammy had pushed his mask away so he could see everyone clearly. "Batman's the secret."

Derek, still carrying Abigail, asked Sammy who the superhero was.

Sammy looked at him with wide eyes, like he should know the answer. "You already told me that, Alpa Dere," he said, so matter of factly.

"Tell us again," said Scott. "What's the real hero's name?"

"Stiles," came the answer. "Stiles is the superhero." Sammy looked up, doesn't register why his family is crying again. He put a big bite of cereal in his mouth and stared very seriously at Derek. "You should know that."

Derek and John are both crying, their jeans soaked from tears as they sit in front of Stiles' grave. "He's right, Stiles," says Derek. "I should know that you're always the superhero in the story. But Sammy looked at me and all I could think was that if a little boy who never knew you could still figure out that you're the hero in all the stories, maybe we'd figured out how to do something right. So that's what I'm thankful for."

Derek leaves first, letting John have his own time with his son.

Derek will come back tomorrow.

He talks to Stiles every day.

Has since the day Stiles died.

It's been five years.

* * *

**I feel like a monster just for writing this. I had this vision in my head of a little boy coming downstairs to Derek in a Batman costume because Stiles was Batman and he wanted to be just like Stiles. Because Derek had told him Stiles was the best. And then I cried for a while over that image and I wrote this damn story. **


End file.
